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A Savage Performance
Diana Taylor
Theatricality
On an island, in the middle of nowhere:
i6o
Couplein the Cage 161
nated with my watch," Santos said. He gave the man the watch and two
knives. (Valley News I995:A8)
same way. No matter who tells the story-the playwright, the discoverer, or
the government official-it stars the same white male protagonist-subject and
the same brown "found" object. The moment of convergence, conveyed in
the present tense, is followed by the hesitant tension of unknowing. The
hero's resolve to bring the power of his civilization to bear on the native re-
sults in the same tragic denouement-even though names and places change
in its many reincarnations. Though clearly a setup, the theatricality of the co-
lonial encounter can be no less regulatory than performativity in producing
"the effects that it names."
Performance
In 1992, Latino performance artists Coco Fusco and Guillermo Gomez-
Peiia decided to put the viewer back into the frame of discovery. They started
their Guatinaui World Tour as a sardonic response to the celebrations of the
quincentennial:
Our plan was to live in a golden cage for three days, presenting ourselves
as undiscovered Amerindians from an island in the Gulf of Mexico that
had somehow been overlooked by Europeans for five centuries. We
called our homeland Guatinau, and ourselves Guatinauis. We performed
our "traditionaltasks,"which ranged from sewing voodoo dolls and lift-
ing weights to watching television and working on a laptop computer. A
donation box in front of the cage indicated that, for a small fee [one dol-
lar], I would dance (rap music), Guillermo would tell authentic
Amerindian stories (in a nonsensical language), and we would pose for
Polaroids with visitors. Two "zoo guards"would be on hand to speak to
visitors (since we could not understand them), take us to the bathroom
on leashes, and feed us sandwiches and fruit. At the Whitney Museum in
New York we added sex to our spectacle, offering a peek at authentic
Guatinaui male genitals for $5. A chronology with highlights from the
history of exhibiting non-Western peoples was on one didactic panel and
a simulated Encyclopedia Britannica entry with a fake map of the Gulf of
Mexico showing our island was on another. (Fusco I995:393)
For the next year, the highly controversial performance, Two Undiscovered
AmerindiansVisit..., traveled around the world-from Plaza Colon in Madrid
to the Australian Museum of Natural Science in Sydney, from the
Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History to London's Covent Gar-
dens, to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Fusco and Gomez-Pefia chose countries
deeply implicated in the extermination or abuse of aboriginal peoples. By
staging their show in historic sites and institutions, they situated the dehuman-
izing practice in the very heart of these societies' most revered legitimating
structures. The performance (among many other things) repeated the
colonialist gesture of producing the "savage" body, and it historicized the
practice by highlighting its citational character.As in the 15th-century Spanish
Court, the "natives" were once again constructed as exotic others and given
to be seen. Furthermore, it activated current controversies about what and
164 Diana Taylor
how museums display. Since their inception in the Igth century, museums
have literalized the theatricality of colonialism-taking the cultural other out
of context and isolating it, reducing the live performance of cultural practice
into a dead object behind glass. Museums enact the knower/known relation-
ship, preserve (a particular)history, (certain) traditions, and (dominant) values.
The monumentality of most museums emphasizes the discrepancy in power
between the society which can contain all others, and those represented only
by remains, the shardsand fragments salvaged in miniature displays.
The cage confronted the viewer with the "unnatural" and extremely vio-
lent history of representation and exhibition of non-Western human beings.
Yet, it also introduced another history: the caging of rebellious individuals in
Latin America from pre-Hispanic times to the recent public caging in Peru of
Guzman, leader of Sendero luminoso (Shining Path). These performances of
power have different histories or, as Joseph Roach would put it, genealogies.4
The museum space, Fusco and G6mez-Pefia made clear, was certainly a
"practiced place," in de Certeau's meaning of the term (I988:II7). In a cage,
in a museum, in a society that segregates and incarceratesits inhabitants, Fusco
and G6mez-Pefia openly gave themselves up to be classified and labeled.
Scantily clad, like exhibits in a diorama, they exposed themselves to public
scrutiny. Their performance went along with the museum's fictions of discon-
tinuity, for the deracinated past and the informed present appeared to coexist
on either side of the bars. The "barbaric," the display teased us to believe,
could be safely contained. Like the other exhibits, these two beings offered
themselves up as all surface. There was no more interiority to their perfor-
mance of the stereotype than in the stereotype itself and nothing to know, it
seemed, that was not readily available to the viewing eye. Like the stereotype,
the "business" of the performance was monotonous and repetitive. The artists
engaged in the domestic routine of eating, sleeping, and watching TV. Fusco
and G6mez-Pefia's vow of silence, their avoidance of eye contact and any
other gesture of recognition, stripped their performance of anything that
could be mistaken for a "personal" or individual trait. Colonialism, after all,
has deprived its captives of individuality, attempting both to create, then do-
mesticate, barbarism.These bodies were presented as little more than the ge-
neric "male" and "female" announced in the didactic panel. The observers,
like typical visitors, milled around, at times disturbing the repose of the ob-
jects, who were there to be looked at.
less on what we did than on how people interacted with us and inter-
preted our actions [...W]e intended to create a surpriseor "uncanny" en-
counter, one in which audiences had to undergo their own process of
reflection [...C]aught off guard, their beliefs are more likely to rise to the
surface. (I995:40)
The spectator was now not only in the frame, but the main player. However,
one of the most interesting and complicated aspects to the Cage performance
was that several performances were taking place simultaneously. While Fusco
and G6mez-Penia paced in their cage, object of the audience's gaze, an "ex-
pert" with an "Ask Me" button explained the natives' dress, habits, and origins.
Someone with a Polaroid took souvenir photos of audience members posed
against the couple in the cage. And, all the while, Fusco and Paula Heredia
were making a documentary video of the performancesand the audiences. Cuts
from films representing "natives" were interjected with routines performed by
the artists and interviews of audience members in the many sites hosting the
Cage. So while viewers were tourists, consumers, dupes, or colonizers in one
production, they were actors in another-in which, as the footage shows, they
played tourists, consumers, dupes, and colonists, along with other roles. The
film of the Cage, moreover, makes dupes of viewers who think that they're
speaking of the live performance. The video, we might be tempted to believe,
transparentlydocuments what happened in the former. But these are quite dif-
ferent shows, in part because the two mediums-live performance and film-
affect the nature of the audience response. The intense controversy surrounding
the Cage, I believe, is in part a product of this double staging.
Trying to resist the temptation to "read" one performance as the other, I'll
briefly look at the way the audience of the performance is constructed in the
video. Though the filmmakers selected the responses, the range of reactions to
the show, according to G6mez-Peina, was actually wider than what Fusco and
Heredia chose to include. G6mez-Pefia speaks of skinheads trying to get into
the cage, and both he and Fusco document the incident in Buenos Aires
when someone threw acid on his leg (Fusco I995:6I; G6mez-Pefia 1996:112).
Nonetheless, the video shows a fair range of reactions. Many viewers, much
to Fusco and G6mez-Pefia's surprise, believed the show was "real" and that
the Guatinauis came from that far-off world of National Geographic-land.
For all the parodic staging and acting, many in the audience believed the per-
formance.8 They spotted traces of ritual action and other signs of primitivism
that they recognized but didn't exactly understand. Others showed more
skepticism. One woman, who looked Mayan in origin and expressed an inter-
est in and knowledge about Guatemala, refused to fall for a simplistic "is it or
isn't it?" approach to the issue of native identity. Her somewhat defensive and
defiant pose suggested that she knew better than to comment on whether
"undiscovered" people exist, saying only that if you're willing to pay people
to travel around in a cage, you'll probably find candidates. She also eschewed
essentialist notions of cultural authenticity, stating that people go into a soci-
Couplein the Cage 167
ety and take what they want. Her notion of societies as constantly in flux, ab-
sorbing, and resemanticizing "foreign" cultural materials, ran along the lines
of Latin American theories of transculturation which explain how aspects of
native cultures survived and continue to flourish after 500 years of conquest,
colonization, and imperialism. Other viewers felt deterritorializedthrough the
encounter. One woman, sensing the ground beneath her feet shifting, giggled
nervously as she concluded that the spectacle made tourists of its audiences.
Several people identified (with) the very "real" message underlying the highly
parodic performance-a Spaniardknew it was about the conquest and coloni-
zation. A Pueblo elder looked in the cage and recognized the faces of his
grandchildren, and lamented that Native Americans are not much better off
today. The video shows an Anglo man staring at the couple with rapt atten-
tion. He (much like Santos on his Brazilian expedition) marveled at how "na-
tives" are fascinated by miracles of technology they cannot understand. He
kept looking, fascinated, at "their" fascination.9
The responses that the video highlights, however, are those by people who
felt deceived or offended by the show. These stemmed from people who felt
drawn or coerced into the scenario of discovery and either "believed" or felt
that they were being asked to believe that "primitives" existed. Why these re-
sponses, one wonders, given that there was little illusion of authenticity to the
performance? Aside from the "authoritative"framework provided by the mu-
seum, the guides, and the Encyclopedia Britannica, everything that the audi-
ence saw was blatantly theatrical. The Guatinauis, linguistically derived from
"what now," demanded incredulity. The point of the performance was to
highlight, rather than normalize, the theatricality of colonialism. Fusco and
G6mez-Pefia parodied Western stereotypes of what "primitive" people do.
Every stereotype was exaggerated and contested-the sunglasses offset the
body paint, the "traditional tasks" included working on a computer. When
paid to dance, Fusco performed a highly unritualistic dance to rap. So, two
questions: How could people either believe the show or feel offended by it,
maintaining that they were being "deceived?" And, secondly, why were they,
and subsequent viewers of the film, so angry?
Let's start with the first. The gullibility and deception are flip sides of the
same will-to-believe. The first accepts "the truth" of the colonial claim, the
other sees only the "lie." One stubbornly clings to the official version, no
matter how glaring the contradictions; the other feels nothing but outrage-
can't anyone be trusted anymore? Some viewers clearly wanted to believe in
the Guatinauis. They longed for authenticity. One dollar was a small price to
pay for an encounter with "real" otherness. The reassuring notion of stable,
identifiable, "real" otherness legitimated fantasies of a real, knowable "self."
The cage might signal dislocation, placed as it was in the very heart of civili-
zation. But the dislocation, one might choose to believe, resulted from the
momentary interruption of the barbaricinto "our" world. It didn't have any-
thing to do with the diasporasand cultural transformationsprovoked by colo-
nialism. It was worth a dollar to imagine that the Guatinauis' primitive cage in
no way reflected back on the troubles of our postmodern societies, and most
emphatically not on what Homi Bhabha calls the "unhomeliness" of the colo-
nial and postcolonial condition stretching from I492 to the present (I994:9).
The Cage promised the security of partial recognition; visitors could marvel at
the stereotype of the uprooted natives without worrying about the contempo-
rary reality of displacement and migration. Most, if not all, native peoples of
the world today are uprooted, forced to migrate, or are pushed onto reserva-
tions of some sort or another. But one could pretend that the show of dis-
placement was unrelated to that history, or to the current history of political
I68 Diana Taylor
Once again, the video watcher is outside the frame, the un-
seen-seer. We can laugh at others' reactions. We know; they
don't. The hierarchies and epistomologies that the perfor-
mance attacked are in danger of being reproduced.
While I personally love the video, and the live performance that I imagine I
see in it, I believe the anger in part comes from the "testlike" quality of both.
No matter what, we fail. Would audience members go along with the
expert's explanations about the Guatinauis and their island? If the spectators
believed the show, they were gullible fools or self-interested colonists. But
what if they didn't believe the show, that is, if they understood it as a perfor-
mance? Some people recognized it as performance without recognizing that
Fusco and Gomez-Pefia were the artists. Coco Fusco complains about an au-
dience member at the Whitney Biennial who was willing to pay $Io to feed
her a banana. In her essay, she writes: "even those who saw our performance
as art rather than artifactappeared to take great pleasure in engaging in the fic-
tion, by paying money to see us enact completely nonsensical or humiliating
acts" (I995:50). Could we argue, conversely, that the man was just willing to
Couplein the Cage I69
play along? I asked Gomez-Pefia what his ideal spectator would have done.
He stated, "open the cage and let us out." But, unlike the performance that
Gomez-Pefia and Roberto Sifuentes staged on the Tijuana/San Diego border
in which they crucified themselves and explicitly asked audience members to
bring them down from the cross, there is nothing in this performance that
calls for intervention. The prohibition against uninvited intervention comes
specifically from its performative nature. People who recognize the conven-
tions of performance, as Cervantes so ferociously demonstrated in Don
Quixote, don't interrupt the show. And, ironically, the ones who actually tried
to open the cage during the world tour were the skinheads who wanted to at-
tack the actors physically. So what do we do? Play along as a "good" audi-
ence? And what would that mean, exactly? Participate in the fantasy by posing
for a photograph with the "natives"?Would it be appropriate to laugh at the
obvious parodic mode? Or would that be highly inappropriate, given the
West's violent history of displaying, incarcerating, and exterminating human
beings? Should we walk out and cancel our membership to the museum?
There is no appropriatereaction, no "true" or "false" response to this perfor-
mance that, as Fusco writes, "falls somewhere between truth and fiction"
(I995:37). Some spectators felt offended. Others felt sad and confused.
The video further accentuates the spectators' discomfort when suddenly
faced with the disturbing spectacle of people locked in cages. Several specta-
tors I've watched the video with felt angry at the intrusive video camera that
"outs" spectators as closet colonists or dupes. Sprung upon the viewer with
the intention of creating "a surprise or 'uncanny encounter"' (Fusco
1995:40), the spectacle would surprise anyone. As Gomez-Pefia stated toward
the end of the video, sometimes it takes a while for the viewers to under-
stand what they're seeing and their role in it. Most of us know all about im-
perfect responses, painful pauses, or delayed witticisms of the "this is what
she was thinking but could not say" variety. But though it might have been
the artists' intention to create a pause for reflection, this is the space that the
video does not allow for. Quite the opposite, it freezes that immediate re-
sponse. Before the spectator can digest and come to terms with the show,
that response is turned into a show for someone else. As video watchers, our
pleasure is somehow tied into the audience members' floundering or, worse,
humiliation. I, personally, feel gloriously Latin American when I watch this
video, very empowered knowing I "get it" and "they" don't. That's what
relajo is all about. Through a disruptive act, it creates a community of resis-
tance, a community (as Portilla puts it) of underdogs. Maybe that's why I
love it. But my own pleasure troubles me-is this the "appropriate"response
to a history of dehumanizing colonial subjects? (Even though I enjoyed the
performance and relished its sardonic humor, I knew I'd failed the test.) And
is putting the viewer on the spot automatically a form of critiquing the eth-
nographic, one-way focus? While the live performance situates us all in the
Lacanian field of the gaze, in which we're all in the frame, looking at each
other looking, the video shifts the borders. Once again, the video watcher is
outside the frame, the unseen-seer. We can laugh at others' reactions. We
know; they don't. The hierarchies and epistemologies that the performance
attacked are in danger of being reproduced. Our looking becomes unidirec-
tional and invasive. "Their" gullibility reaffirms our superior wisdom; "they"
once again serve to stabilize "us." Does reversing the ethnographic lens, albeit
sardonically, prove less invasive than the ethnographic practice under critique?
Unlike the live performance-which offers the spectators a little room to
pause, look, and look again in their attempts to grapple with the colonialism
in the heart and soul of Western cultures (assuming the video camera doesn't
170 Diana Taylor
pounce on them)-the video "captures" or "cages" the viewer. It, like the
systems of representation it parodies, produces and exposes the other, and
unwittingly colludes with the ethnographic pleasures it sets out to
deconstruct. So is that the point? That there is no "other"-no noncoercive
system of representation? We're all trapped in our performative traditions,
mimicking the seemingly endless slate-cleaning, original, and elucidating ges-
tures of those who came before even as we struggle to do away with the
cage? Or does the problem have more to do with the way ethnography and
performance come together in staging encounters with otherness as they seek
to elucidate the drama of cultural encounters?
Ethnography
Ethnography, I have suggested throughout, not only studies performance
(the rituals and social dramas commentators habitually refer to); it is
performative. Many commentators, Edith Turner and Victor Turner most no-
tably, have stressed that they peform ethnography by recording social dramas,
ritual action, and other forms of "twice-behaved behavior" that Richard
Schechner, in BetweenTheatreand Anthropology,calls "restored behavior." As
Schechner puts it: "Directors have been, and fieldworkers are becoming, spe-
cialists in restored behavior" (I985:IO9). And other performative aspects have
been stressed. The ethnologist studies theatrical aspects normally associated
with acting (movement, body language, gesture), with staging (backdrop,
context), with dramatic plot (crisis, conflict, resolution), and with cultural
meaning. The object of analysisis present, embodied cultural behavior which,
as in theatrical performances, takes place live in the here and now. Like the
director, as Schechner points out, the ethnologist mediates between two cul-
tural groups, presenting one group to another in a unidirectional way. The
target group that is the object of analysis (like the actors) does not usually see
or analyze the group that benefits or consumes the ethnographer's accounts
(the audience). And it rarely, if ever, gets to respond to the written observa-
tions which, in some cases, it might never even see. The addressed audience
for both, Schechner continues, is not necessarily the same as the audience for
which it was (or will be) written (1997).
Moreover, the ethnologist plays a role in the dramathat he or she (in theory)
is there to simply observe. Victor Turner tries to dispel notions that the eth-
nologist imposes a Western narrative on the material under examination: "It
may perhapsbe argued against me," he writes, "that I have imposed a Western,
even an Aristotelian, form on my field data" (1986:37). Though it's hard to
imagine a more Western narrative of discovery into the "heart of darkness"
than Claude Levi-Stauss'sdescription of his voyage into the "primitive" societ-
ies of Brazil in TristesTropiques,which is subdivided into chapterssuch as "De-
parture," "On Board Ship," and "A Backward Glance" (1967), I have tried to
argue that ethnography is performative primarily in the way it stages, or re-
stores, the social drama. The encounter is constructed theatrically,staged in the
here and now, rather than as a past-tense narrativedescription. The ethnogra-
pher brackets the moment [here the drama of"discovery"], chooses the cast of
charactersby virtue of framing the event, and endows it with shape and mean-
ing. The ethnographic "other," like the dramatic characteracted by a live ac-
tor, is part "real," part "fiction"-that is, real bodies come to embody fictional
qualities and characteristicscreated by the ethnographer/dramatist.Nonetheless,
the ethnographer insists that the spectacle is "real" or, as Turner puts it, quot-
ing Galileo's affirmationof the incontestable order of our solar system, "and yet
it moves" (1986:37). The spectacle is "real"; it comes first, he insists, and the
theoretical framework after.'?And yet, we would answer, we are the products
Couple in the Cage 17I
of our own discursive and epistemic systems; we are no more outside the cul-
tural repertoires that produce us than the earth is free from the sun's pulls and
tugs. This created, fictional other, child of the ethnographers' cultural reper-
toire, is the figure that Coco Fusco and Guillermo Gomez-Pefia capture and
put behind bars. Their enactment shows the violence of the ethnographic per-
formance that tries to pass as real-violent because its performative strings are
hidden from the spectator'sview. The spectator of "real" ethnography (as op-
posed to Fusco and G6mez-Pefia's parody) is supposed to see it as objective sci-
ence of authenticity ratherthan as fantasy.
However, there is also a way in which performance, or at least this perfor-
mance, is ethnographic-though not perhaps in the way that it intends. All
performance,in a sense, has much in common with the raw materialof ethnog-
raphy-stemming from the same rituals and social dramas that ethnographers
172 Diana Taylor
make their focus. Performance,too, explores the use and significance of gesture,
movement, body language, and so on. And 20th-century artists have actively
tried to reconnect to ritual action, as evident in the writing and work by major
practitioners such as Artaud, Grotowski, Barba, and others. However, perfor-
mance is not just a doing, a form of "carryingthrough" as its etymological roots
(parfournir = to perform, carrythrough thoroughly) would suggest. Performance,
like ethnography,has also served as an instrumentof culturalanalysis,though the
society under examination has tended to be the artist's own, rather than the
"other's." The subject of analysisin the Cage performance is not the "couple"
inside but the audience outside. Certainly, the history and practice of Western
ethnography is the target of the parody. But the performance is in itself ethno-
graphic. Like the ethnographer, these performance artists made assumptions
about the imagined viewers (a "white audience" as Coco Fusco describes it in
the opening paragraphof her essay [I995:37]), formulatedtheir goal ("to create a
surprise or 'uncanny' encounter, one in which audiences had to undergo their
own process of reflection as to what they were seeing" [40]), defined their meth-
odology (interactive performance), and adjustedtheir expectations according to
information gained in the field ("We did not anticipate that our self-conscious
commentary on this practice could be believable" [50]). They then decided to
measure (collect hard data) the size and range of reactions of the audiences that
attended the performance. This analysisled to certain conclusions about deeply
held Western cultural stereotypes and anxieties that manifest themselves in cer-
tain forms of public behavior on the part of spectators(chagrin,insulting and hu-
miliating speech, etc.), which were then broken down and classifiedaccording to
age, race, class, gender, and national origin. "[W]e found that young people's re-
actions have been the most humane" Fusco writes (I995:52). Or, "Severalfemi-
nist artistsand intellectuals at performancesin the United States" said this (55);
"Artistsand culturalbureaucrats,the self-proclaimedelite" did that (52); "people
of color who believed, at least initially, that the performancewas real" did some-
thing else (53); while "Whites outside the U.S. were more ludic in their reac-
tions than American whites" (55). While the performance sardonically mimics
the gestures of ethnographic displays and dismantles the "real" they purport to
reveal, the video in turn wants to function as a "document" of culturalbehavior.
So, is this reverse ethnography that sardonicallyshows up the violence inherent
in ethnographicpractice, as G6mez-Pefia and Fusco intend, or is it ethnography,
complete with its own inherent violence? Is the discomfortmanifestedby the au-
dience simply about the troubling content (the treatment of aboriginalpeoples)?
Is it about the disconcerting true/false setup? Or, is it also about the way in
which it, the audience, is being constructed?Does the scrutinyof the audience in
fact end up turning spectatorsinto specimens?Does the encounter give us more
information about our own culturalfearsand fantasies,"our" being the audience
at the performanceand capturedon tape, or is the data being used, classified,and
presented to some other audience entirely?Does that audience get to respond to
the show, ratherthan as the show?
These questions, though directed at the performance and particularly the
video of the Cage, hold for other forms of performance that move the focus
from the stage onto the audience in an attempt to gauge its habits and belief
systems. As culture becomes less a synonym for performance than its field of
work, and as performance complicates our understanding of cultural practice
so that we recognize the rehearsed and produced and creative nature of every-
day life, perhaps we may be excused for wondering who the artists are, who
the ethnographer, who the dupe, who the closet colonist. Who, ultimately,
pulls the performative strings?Who is positioned where in this most uncanny,
postmodern drama of cultural encounters?
Couple in the Cage 173
Notes
i. On an island,in the middle of nowhere:
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